


Money Maker

by subtlemarathon



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Angst, Business, Dark, Fluff, Illegal Activities, M/M, Noodle is a badass, Poverty, Prostitution, Slow Build, Smut, Stripper AU, Strippers, Tags to be added later on, Violence, bottom!2d, crossover bands, damon and jamie are totally fucking yall, i swear this is a serious and sad story, murdoc is a bit of a dick but we love him, nightclubs, top!murdoc, we kind of like paula, yes the gallaghers are here too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:22:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22210984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subtlemarathon/pseuds/subtlemarathon
Summary: The Strobelite business is declining, Damon and Jamie are shit at their job, and Murdoc is the only one trying to keep the industry thriving... kinda. Problem is, he's got no employees willing to work shitty hours for minimum wage under their operative. With this in mind, Murdoc sets off in search of starved lowlifes craving any kind of work. Luckily, Murdoc finds himself three bold streetfighters, an arrogant college kid, and a homeless blue-headed twink...
Relationships: Ace Copular/Stuart "2D" Pot, Cyborg Noodle & Noodle (Gorillaz), Damon Albarn/Jamie Hewlett, Murdoc Niccals/Stuart "2D" Pot, Noodle & Stuart "2D" Pot, Paula Cracker/Murdoc Niccals, Paula Cracker/Stuart "2D" Pot, Russel Hobbs & Stuart "2D" Pot
Comments: 15
Kudos: 48





	1. STROBELITE

Murdoc's silhouette cast ghastly shadows along each blacked out terrace, the occasional cough and sniffle emitting from his being as he put out his ciggie on a nearby lamp. His feet led themselves through the streets he'd forced himself to remember, like a friend he disliked yet was intrigued to get to know for the sake of it. He didn't have many of those. Never has. His hands delved into his jacket, his teeth chattering in the crisp nightly breeze.

A buzz tingled against his thigh and he reluctantly pulled out his phone;

_Hot Prick_ _-_ _20:58_  
 _Mate where tf r u? we open in_  
 _like 2 mins. hurry tf up u wanktard_

He rolled his unnaturally dualed eyes.

_Me - 20:58_   
_im almost there twat dont get_   
_ur knickers in a twist. i know u all_   
_love me but u can wait a little longer darlin ;)_

As he went to put the device back, another buzz teased him;

_Hot Prick_ _\- 20:59_  
 _F_ _uck you_

Murdoc would've written a hasty reply with something along the lines of _'maybe later luv'_ but decided otherwise since he really was running a tad late. He picked up his pace and sped through the haunting town until the bumping melody of upbeat tunes pierced the air. Pinks and blues painted stripes across his tanned skin as he stopped to look up at the neon sign above;

_S T R O B E L I T E_

It never failed to strike a sense of pride and belonging in its name as it stared down at him. He took a final glance at his phone, the screen reading 21:14. Not too bad. Nevertheless, his legs continued to move by themselves into the building.

As the door swung open, scents of sweat mingled with sharp liquors invaded his senses, his head already pounding from the speakers' obnoxious tunes. Murdoc groaned, surveying the club. The place hadn't opened a near half-hour ago yet groups were already huddling on the dancefloor. Not nearly as many as your usual club, but enough for the place to be given that name. "Sweet Satan.." he grumbled, slipping his jacket off his broad figure and flinging it over shoulder.

A group of young women strutted by, whispering and giggling among themselves. One of them, a short, busty brunette approached, her tight purple dress hugging her hips nicely. Murdoc could be considered a short man yet women still flocked. She bit her plump lip flirtatiously. "Hiya, hun," she winked, her entire body pushed against his side. "Hey, baby," he spoke huskily, stepping closer and the girl giggled as he placed a hand on the small of her back to bring her closer. "Ain't you a pretty little thing, eh?" He tucked a loose curl behind her ear, leaning in to her exposed neck.

"Oi, Niccals!" a voice beckoned through the noise. "Shite..." the satanist murmured, arm falling from the girl's behind and back to his side. Murdoc swiveled and was met with his rather pissed off colleague. The girl retreated, fearing a commencing fight. "'ey, Jamie," Murdoc fake-smiled. "Fancy seein' you 'round 'ere," he joked, wrapping an arm around the man. Jamie scowled, shoving him off. "Where've ya been!? Ya shoulda been 'ere like thirty minutes ago!" he scolded, folding his arms and tapping his foot impatiently. "Well," the shorter began and Jamie raised a brow, ushering for him to continue. Murdoc pursed his lips together. "I was struck by lightnin-" "Fucking hell, Murdoc. Don' ya take anythin' seriously?!" It was Murdoc's turn to be aggrivated. "Well, _excuse me_ for bein' a bit hesitant to come 'ere _._ If yer dickbag of a _boyfriend_ actually made this enjoyable for me, I wouldn' 'ave to... to..." He flailed his hands, looking for the right wording. "Yknow?" The other glared, shaking his head. "First of all, Damon ain' my boyfriend, 'e's my _boss_ _._ _"_ He corrected in a 'matter-of-fact' tone. "Kinky," Murdoc commented and Jamie scoffed. "Whatever, man. You are _unbelievable_ , yknow that?" Murdoc shrugged. "So I've been told." The taller brunette shook his head and disbelief. "Anyways, 'e's cooped up in 'is office 'nd said he needed to 'ave words with ya. Can't say I'm surprised after the shite you've been pullin' lately." Jamie gave one last stern look before brushing past the tanned man and getting lost in the flashing lights of the dancefloor. "Nenenenene," Murdoc mocked childishly, drooping his shoulders and his head dropping back. "I can't believe this..." he grunted, head falling back down as he wandered to the back.

Strutting down the halls, moans of desperate horny teens invaded his train of thought as he passed each closed off room. He ironically scrunched his face in disgust. Not because sex repulsed him or anything, quite the opposite shockingly, but because he knew a fake moan when he heard one. He halted at the end of the corridor, facing the chipped chocolate wood of his boss' office door. Sighing, he twisted the knob and cautiously entered, closing the door behind him quietly.

"Anyone ever told ya 'bout knockin' you wanke- oh... it's _you..."_ Damon's seething ceased at the sight of his barman and he set his ciggie down into the ashtray, propping his elbows on the desk table he hid behind. The smokey aura arose like a forest fire, enveloping the man in a thin grey mist. The dim lighting accompanied by the silence the two shared enticed an unwanted discomfort that lingered in Murdoc's chest. With half of Damon's body engulfed in the shadows and staring impatiently, Murdoc cleared his throat. "Ya needed me?" he reminded, discomfort turning into an unexplainable annoyance. Damon hummed, collecting some papers and tapping them. "You know what these are, Niccals?" he enquired. Murdoc opened his mouth to speak one of his perverse comments though Damon beat him to it. " _This_ is _us._ " Murdoc blinked slowly. "Wow..." he said in fake awe, shaking his head slowly. "That's just.... I bet that sounded less gay in your head, eh?" he snickered in the same astonsished tone, ending with a muffled cackle he tried to desperately hide. His attempts failed and the smokey room was filled to the brim with the barman's hoarse laughter instead. Even in the void of the confined office, Murdoc could still see Damon's face drop into a deep frown. "Murdoc," he spoke lowly, "we're... we're getting shut down." Murdoc quietened abruptly, smile twitching. "Y-You... You what?" he coaxed, pretending he didn't notice what the man had said. The words took a moment to sink in. "I said, Strobelite is getting closed down," he repeated clear as crystal. There was no way to hide the truth now. "Nah, yer jus' fuckin' with me, ain't ya?" Murdoc refused to let his facade alter under this new pressure. Damon exhaled through his nose. "Funny one, that was, I'll give you that, heh..."

Damon cleared the lump in his throat, writhing a little in his seat as Murdoc slowly approached his desk, his heeled boots clacking rhythmically at the floorboards. The unhinged smile masking his face was enough to tell nothing good was to come. Murdoc's hands dug into the fine wood of the desk, knuckles whitening in the tight clench. He leaned over, desk creaking a little under his weight as he brought his face even closer to his boss. "Murdoc, listen-" "No, _you_ listen, prick," he spat, smile turning into an animalistic snarl. " _You..._ How the actual _fuck_ could you let something like this happen?! You had _one_ job! ONE!" He emphasised his rage with a harsh slam onto the desk. The music outside still throbbed, the beat pumping on the ground beneath him; just enough to surge more adrenaline through his angered being. "Murdoc, please calm do-" " _Calm down?_ Don't tell me to fucking calm down!" He ran a calloused hand through his set of coarse black hair, sweeping his fringe aside and revealing his knotted brows. "How did this happen...?" He asked, bunching his hair in his fist and looking down at his boss. _'This is it,'_ thought the barman, _'This is fucking it...'_ "Our business is declining, Murdoc. People have flocked to competitors and the only customers that come here are barely legal teens. That isn't enough to pay for stock, rent, suppliers, the whole lot. You've seen how the prices have been cut to nothing," Damon continued to rant, his calm demeanour not once flawed and Murdoc could only stare with a dazzle of disappointment in his discoloured eyes. "If we want to save this business, we need differentiation here! Something unique! Something to be known for! As well as that, employees are dropping like flies and most never even show up anymore," Damon glared at his colleague intently on that point. "We don't have the income to pay them anymore! Mate... I'm gonna be honest, I don't know what to do..." Murdoc's arms hung at his sides as he stared in disbelief. "So, yer tellin' me you've fucked up _EVERYTHING_?!" Damon groaned, sinking in his seat. "If ya actually showed up and was on time every now and again, perhaps _you_ coulda done somethin'. But no, instead you just continue being some lazy old manwhore with charm equivalent to a fucking dead rat," Damon fought back, crossing his arms like a petty child as if he were the superior one.

Murdoc shook his head, sighing into his hands. What was the point in fighting this? He needed a drink. "Oi! Where are ya goin'?" Damon called out but was cut off by the closing of his door.

As Murdoc walked out, rage still barely emitting from his presence, he looked up, and left, and right, and everywhere. He observed what had been built not only by him and his business partners but the previous owner; Sebastian Niccals, a man of good fortune and less good morals. A man of good taste but less good empathy for his course of destruction. He originally built this wonder as a king, yet now the arrogant prince had overruled the castle and shaped his own empire, except not. If not for meeting the young and enthusiastic duo that were Damon and Jamie, this would be _his. All of it. 'I could of done something...'_ he reminded himself as he sipped on the spirit he had subconsciously poured himself from behind his bar.

"Not go well?" A foggy voice resounded. Murdoc turned to face Jamie who wore a look of genuine concern. "Murdoc Niccals depressed? Now that's a sight I never thought I'd see," he joked, trying to lift his friend's hopes. "Piss off, I'm mourning," he grumbled. "Eh?" Murdoc hiccupped, brain becoming cloudy and buzzed with each refill. "The club." The brunette pursed his lips tight, humming. "I still don't get it.." Murdoc rolled his eyes, releasing an exhausted sigh and cracking his neck. "You wouldn't..."

Suddenly, an idea sprung to mind as he lowered the drink from his lips, swallowing slowly and feeling the tingle on his tongue linger in his mouth. "Oi, Hewll, yer still an artsy and creative fella, ain't ya?" Jamie blinked. Although rarely a common topic, Murdoc secretely admired Jamie's work. Hell, it was his interior design ideas that made the club what it is today. Shame no one sees it like that now apparently. "W-well, yeah, I-I guess so, why?" Murdoc grinned as he stared at nothing, visualising something that he couldn't quite get the full picture of. "Wot do ya think about spicin' things up 'round 'ere?" Jamie's face contorted into disgust. "Ew, Murdoc that's fucking wrong! I told ya we ain't-" "No, not _that_ , the club!" Jamie's face heated into a hazy pink. "Oh- right, yes, of course. What'd ya have in mind?" Murdoc exhaled. "Not sure. Somethin' fun, different, exciting, vibrant, yeah? Somethin, that'll make people go 'woah'," Murdoc daydreamed. "I think I know what you mean..." The brunette tapped his chin in thought. "Since we've become a little low budget nowadays, hehe," he began, to which Murdoc thought _'You have no idea',_ Jamie gasped at his new idea, "we could start small. Like.... like a stripper or something! A real fine one that puts other birds from other clubs to shame," he suggested. Murdoc grasped his shoulders and Jamie yelped as he was brought into a chaste and drunk kiss that lasted no longer than a second. "Yer a genius, Hewll!" Jamie's face was practically on fire, burning like a blue flame. "I-I am?!" Maybe it was the alcohol talking, but in all honesty it wasn't a bad idea. They hadn't had a stripper in so long since the last doll left. These teens didn't care for strippers or cathouse whores, they just wanted a secluded place to get off their rockers. But, if Murdoc could find the perfect woman, the sexiest of the bunch, the queen of the dancefloor, maybe they could win back the hearts of the old customers. The thought made the barman's head spin and stomach flip in a good way, a sudden adventurous excitement arising in his short being. He'll show that cunt of a boss Albarn he was good for something. He'll be the one to save Strobelite and regain his place in the hierarchy. The prince would take back his empire and find them a pretty little fool in the process. "Indeed, you are, Jamie."


	2. The Less I Know The Better

Murdoc growled, aggressively throwing the papers off his desk and hearing them float effortlessly to the floor. He had put up an ad online and in paper form directed to young ladies willing to agree to their low-pay job. The few women that had agreed were definately not suitable, hell, some didn't even look like a woman. The whole point of this was trying to find a sexy attractive young lady!

Murdoc found himself punching in the numbers on his phone, listening to the droning dial tone.

_"'ello-"_

"Oi, Jamie! I can't fucking find anyone for the job and I swear it's driving me mad 'ere! A little help would be nice, mate, if you aren't too busy getting ploughed in the arse by Damon!"

He caught a few incoherent curses on the other end of the line.

_"Mate, I'm too goddamn busy to- hng, argue w-with you right now-ah~. This whole s-stripper advert thing w-was your idea. Maybe I was goin' about this all wrong- ah~ Maybe, nngh.."_

Murdoc blinked a few times.

"Um, Jamie, are you..-"

_"Gotta go, Murdoc!"_

The line died. Well shit. "Slut," he huffed, slamming his phone onto the desk so hard he quickly picked it up again to assure he didn't crack it or anything.

Murdoc decided once again to take the matter into his own hands again. Maybe ads weren't the best way to go when looking for a whore. Sometimes. Was he looking at this wrong? A nice bird would do the business good, right? He needed to look at this from a new perspective.

He closed his eyes and leaned back into his withered swivel chair, trying to remember the events that occurred many years ago...

_"Hey, Mudzy~" a high-pitched voice squealed. Even through the pounding music and continuous chatter from the dancefloor, her voice always pierced through. Murdoc grumbled, half-turning his head. "What d'ya want, Paula?" He took a swig of whiskey to wash away the nonchalant tone of his scratchy voice. Paula grinned, trailing a long nail across his broad shoulders, stopping to draw shapes on his bicep. The little touches sent a tingle down his spine as she hooked a leg over his own. "I'm bored, hun..." she whispered against his ear. She placed herself across his lap, blocking his drink that he had tried to reach for again. Their short break would end soon and he'd have to get back behind that counter to serve alongside his other colleagues. He let his hand fall down into her lap, massaging her thigh through her torn fishnets. "That ain't my problem, 'hun'," he mocked, still rubbing the pad of his thumb over her thigh. His face showed no sort of interest contrasting to the work of his hands across her lower body. "Shouldn't ya be gettin' back to whoring, hm?" He notioned to the pole behind him, stopping the movement of his fingers and letting them rest there. "That's what they pay for, eh?" She huffed, crossing her arms. The two had a complicated... history?... in their time working in the Strobelite. What went from harmless hook-ups and sharing quick lustful looks evolved to careless fuck-buddy relationship fueled by endless teasing. "Fine," she pouted, hopping off his lap and making her way to the stage, being sure to put a little more sway in her step just to tease him. Murdoc fully turned, propping his elbows on the bar behind him. She jumped up onto the stage, heels clacking rhythmically. Whistles and cheers arose from the crowd below to which she responded by firmly grabbing the pole, back to the crowd. She paid no mind to the notes already being thrown on stage, instead locking eyes with the older man as she let a hand trail down her front and fiddling with the lace that hung from her slim body, pacing to the other side of the pole. Her body naturally dipped into the metal, almost grinding against it, just to tease the man who leaned in, intrigued and now sparing his full attention now as a hand run through her jet black locks to push it to the side. He brought the glass to his lips, still observing quietly. Her leg hooked around the pole as she hoisted herself, swaying and moving to the smooth beat-_

Murdoc furrowed his brows, the memory beginning to fade. He believed that teasing dance led to a wild night afterwards. Shame he could rarely remember those fun times.

_"What d'ya mean I'm out!? How can I be out!?" Paula screeched, slamming her pale hands onto Damon's desk. Jamie stood beside her awkwardly, clearing his throat. "M-Miss Cracker, please-" "Shut it, Tumblr boy!" Jamie piped down, blushing furiously and grimacing at her tone. "Paula, I'm sorry but the people just aren't interested anymore. We've already found another candidate to take on your role here." She may as well have had steam blowing from her ears. "You'll be moving downtown to another club. I don't know why this is a problem, luv. It's not like you're out of your profession completely." Damon pushed a paper and pen forward. "Just sign here, Cracker, and be on your merry way." He couldn't have sounded any more lifeless. By this point he just needed her gone. Paula pursed her lips, eyes stinging as she forced down the lump in her throat. "Doesn't Murdoc get a say in this?! Ain't he the manager or somethin'?" Jamie looked over wearily. "Actually, Miss, he's a little busy right now." Paula rolled her eyes, whining. "With whaaaat!? How can a man like him possibly be busy?" Damon and Jamie spared a glance to each other and Jamie groaned at the way Damon raised his brows, urging for him to continue what he started. "He's in the bathrooms I believe... with the new dancer," he winced, backing away from the ticking timebomb slowly. Her jaw dropped. "That little-" She snatched the pen, tearing the lid from it and sprawling her signature messily across the paper so hard it could've torn through. She quickly grabbed her belongings and made her way out the office. As she slammed the door behind her, a door further down the hall swung open in response, a recognisable and a new voice reaching her earshot. Murdoc and a shorter girl stumbled out. Paula would be lying if she said that girl wasn't as beautiful-more beautiful-than herself. She was curved, busty, had curled hazel locks that bounced on her shoulders and perfect dark skin blending wonderfully with her tight black attire. Paula began to feel a little self-conscious all of a sudden, hugging her fur coat around skinny frame. The two laughed as the little lady pulled her falling bra strap up and ran her hands through his now messy fringe to flatten it out, unaware of the extra pair of eyes. Paula stared blankly, looking to her feet. Murdoc's eyes eventually noticed her and he cocked his head at her unmoving posture. Before he could ask where she was off to Paula was already shoving past them, being sure to shoot a deathly glare at the new girl and escaping out the back door._ _Murdoc would've called out if it weren't for the warm body pressing up against him that made him reconsider._

Murdoc never saw her after that. That girl left within weeks too, developing a dislike to his flirtatious nature and claiming their fling was just that, a _fling_. He knew roughly where Paula worked now at the downtown cathouse but never once gave up his time to go running back to her. It was always her who came running back to him though this time, the tables had turned. He always did wonder what she was up to nowadays. Maybe now was the perfect time to find out.

\--

Like any other night, Murdoc was not sleeping. Instead, he decided he was going to take action since everything always ended up being his responsibility.

What better way to get in touch with whores than to ask one yourself, eh? The downtown was an unusual part of the city filled with the homeless and wasted junkies. Once you ended up down there, you were beyond saving. The thought sent a pang of worry through Murdoc as he observed the 'sleeping' bodies tucked into the crevices and alleyways, trembling in the city breeze as they rolled in the street's filth.

Google Maps did its work eventually as within moments he was staring up at the... club..? Unlike Strobelite's pink neon party vibe, this building had its lights dimmed to their lowest and music lowly seeping from below the tinted-windowed door. He couldn't hear the lyrics nor the people inside yet the reverb sent waves of unease into the surroundings, like something wasn't quite right. Murdoc, surprisingly not have taken any sort of substance lately, felt the beginning of a high of sorts at the nauseating atmosphere radiating from the building. It's rickety structure had a sense of offputting melancholy yet remained somewhat slow and sexy as the large sign above illuminated the street in a ghostly white, the only light on the street besides that being the starlight above. If anything, this looked more like a crackhouse than a club and Murdoc probably would have wandered straight past it if he knew no better and if not for the dozens of underdressed people littered like discarded cans out the front and swaying among themselves, no doubt as pissed as they come and tripping in a wonderful high.

Murdoc stepped carefully up the stairwell leading to the main door, mindful of the discarded bottles only to be stopped by a larger man. His eyes were pink and glossed over like the real man was trapped inside behind those glass eyes and reeked worse than the downtown sewage system. "Empty yer pockets, lad." Murdoc, puzzled, slowly turned his pockets inside out to show there was no threat and he wasn't some crazed lunatic, just a guy who liked to smoke and drink as much as the next. The man nodded, opening the door behind him. "Welcome to Champagne Supernova, mate." Murdoc sighed the breath he was holding to not inhale the fella's putrid scent, almost gagging at the invasive smells. "Welcoming," he scoffed, straightening his collar.

The music was clearer now and it added to the musky and ominous atmosphere.

_Someone said they left together_

_I ran out the door to get her_

_She was holding hands with Trevor_

_Not the greatest feeling ever_

_Said, "Pull yourself together_

_You should try your luck with Heather"_

_Man, I hope_ _they slept together_

_Oh, the less I know the better_

  
The tempo was clearly slowed down to match the mesmerising pace and instead of rocking out everyone was swaying and making out lazily on what would have been the dancefloor. Some only had their backs turned as they perched at the bar, faces lost in the towering shadows of the silent bartenders. The reverb convulsed through his legs and coursed around his body like his own bloodstream. This was _definately_ a crackhouse. The women were clad in latex and the mist machines were definately doing their work to cast their slender silhouettes across the peeling walls. The whole vibe of this place made the satanist's head spin. It was hypnotic; the music, the people, the smell of weed and cheap booze, all of it made it hard to breathe yet Murdoc couldn't figure out for the life of him why he wanted _more._

Murdoc felt the feeling return to his legs and he finally found it in himself to walk again through the group of mindless zombies. There was a sense of dread and concern. How could Paula end up in a place like this? He lurked among the people, eyeing each individual though none resembled his old friend.

"You seem lost, mate."

Murdoc turned on his heel to face two men lounging on what would've once been called a couch. Now it was torn and stained in Satan knows what. _'At least have some class. This place is a shithole...'_ he thought to himself as he suspiciously eyed the new faces. "Jus' lookin' for someone," Murdoc started, looking over his shoulder, "Goes by the name Paula Cracker?" He asked. The other man besides the more talkative one sat up abruptly, a fire sparking in his cloudy eyes. "Wo' business ya go' with 'er, eh, mate?" The aggressive undertone made Murdoc's body stiffen and he cringed at the thick northern accent, way stronger than his own. "Easy, Liam," the previous man stated, ushering for 'Liam' to recline back into his seat. "Sorry, my brother 'as a few screws missin' in 'is 'ead, d'ya kno' wot ah mean?" Liam scowled at his brother, crossing his arms childishly. Murdoc noticed the uncanny resemblance in the two's appearances and opposing attitudes, noting how they definately were brothers. "I'm Noel, I own this place," Noel greeted, offering his hand which Murdoc shook slowly. "So do I, ya daft cunt," Liam chimed in and Murdoc held back a snort. He liked this guy. "Murdoc Niccals... from Strobelite," he added quickly as if it were a title to be proud of. He didn't fail to notice the way Noel's nose scrunched at the name. "Right... I can only guess why ya'v come 'ere then if it's to do with Paula. She came from there if ah remember right..." Noel stood, popping his shoulder blades and swiftly Liam followed, glaring at the satanist and stepping forward to lurk over him. Murdoc, a new confidence surging through him, stared back with the same defiance. No way was he going to let some overly sensitive cock square up to him. "Paula told me 'bout you," he seethed and Murdoc could only guess the tales she'd told. "I just need to talk to 'er, then I'll be going. Ya won't 'ave to worry 'bout me comin' back, yeah?" Noel placed a hand on his brother's shoulder, pulling him back. "Knock it off, ya knobjockey," he scolded. "Murdoc, right? Yeah, Paula's out back I believe. 'er shift is almos' over so ya migh' just catch 'er on her way out. That way," Noel pointed to the fire escape. Eyes still locked, Liam followed his brother's steps as they wandered over to the bar. _'Odd,'_ was all Murdoc could come up with about those two.


	3. Singer

The two stood opposite one another, silence. The distance between them shared a mix of two emotions, her's was brief sadness, his was nostalgia. "Paula," he greeted nonchalantly, hands delving into his pockets to hide them from the nipping breeze. She shifted on her feet, one foot going to awkwardly scratch the ankle of the other. "I never once thought," she began quietly, "I never once thought you'd come back to me." She took a few steps closer, that melancholy in her eyes fusing with his own. Her arm twitched as she stood before him. She wanted to reach out to him, touch him, stroke the stubble of his face, want his strong arms around her again. That was all a fantasy now. A forgotten one that was fighting to return in her mind. "I missed you, yknow, when you left," he hummed, looking her top to bottom, being sure to let his gaze linger in some _questionable_ areas. Paula's brows knotted, her bottom lip caught behind her top teeth as she pushed down the thoughts begging to resurface. Murdoc held back a cocky grin. He knew she still wanted it, wanted _him._ No matter how far they run, they always come back for the Murdoc Niccals experience. He had her right where he wanted her. "How dare you," she seethed, her voice more disheartened than angry. "I just need your help, is all, nothing else," he said calmly, stepping closer and ever so slightly brushing his chest up against her. His claw-like nails drew invisible lines on her pale expoded arms as he leaned in closer, lips barely hovering over her own. "You'll help yer ol' pal Mudzy now, wouldn't you?" He murmured huskily. Her eyes flicked between his, looking for something beyond them. "You only ever did want me when you _needed_ me," she agreed quietly, mesmerised by that voice she missed. Inside, her soul was torn; one side thought _'this is it, he's here for_ _you_ _',_ the other spoke _'don't'._ "What is it?" she asked, looking off to the side at the way the cracks in the wall crawled up the building like an annoying little spider. Murdoc grinned slightly. "Before I go into any details," he drove her against the cold concrete wall, "that Manchester brother in there, he mean anythin' to you, luv," he notioned to the club. "He seemed _very_ protective of you." Paula swallowed dryly, unsure of how to respond. "N-No," she breathed. This was _wrong._ Without hesitation, she shoved him back. Murdoc yelped slightly at the push, snapping his head up to see the water welling on her bottom eyelid. He almost felt bad. Almost. "Just," her voice cracked, "what do you want from me?" Even with the career she participated in, for the first time in a while, she felt ashamed. Murdoc stood his full height again, brushing himself off. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. "I need... information," he replied in a more normal tone. With that, the slight tears were laced with confusion.

\--  
Murdoc looked down at the directions he'd been given on some crumpled up leaflet. It was now morning and after spending a night at a _questionable_ motel, he felt a little more refreshed. Sure, he was pretty much out of change, spending the last on the room. Luckily enough for him, they served free snacks and were in possession of shower and toiletry items so he seemed good to go. Downtown looked a little more lively in the morning with people here and there rushing around. His phone dinged and he pulled it out, grimacing at the sight of _Low Battery._ He just prayed Jamie wouldn't get himself murdered or something serious enough to have to call him.

A voice snapped him out of his humorous visions of his mate being brutally killed and begging for his help, a voice that resounded through the street like a whisper in the wind. His head rotated in search until his eyes landed upon the culprit. On the street corner stood a young man, much younger than himself. His skin was pale and smooth, however dirtied and stained in god knows what, tattered clothes hanging loose on his tall figure. Something that did stand out though was his wild blue hair, uncombed and looking very disheveled atop his head. If it weren't for his voice, Murdoc would have just kept walking, but the way it flowed around him, the harmony like, like an angel, he understood why some passer-byers stopped to throw a few pennies in his guitar case. He smiled at them, still singing softly, and Murdoc was able to notice the gap in his teeth. That kid was definately homeless. Poor sod. Murdoc almost felt sad when he stared down the young lad who was just trying to make some cash. At that moment, the blue boy glanced over and Murdoc, too mesmerised to quickly turn away, locked eyes with the boy's... black? eyeballs. What? No way. That wasn't possible. Murdoc glared, eyes wide and lips parted slightly in amazement. This man, boy, thing... he was so... freakish. The boy made a slightly confused expression at Murdoc's reaction, turning away again and plucking his guitar softly. Murdoc shuddered. "What. The. Fuck," he said aloud to himself, walking away from the scene. Yeah, his greenish skin was weird and perhaps offputting to some but that kid was on a whole other level of terror. Good thing he had that perfect voice or Satan knows what would happen to him.

Murdoc strolled the morning streets, making multiple wrong turnings, so many he was convinced he was going in circles. _'Coulda sworn I've passed that lampost before.... And that bush... Hey, there's that house I saw those dudes banging in, wait no, that was the one over there...'_ Murdoc grunted in annoyance. Where the hell was this address?!

Murdoc kicked a stone across the pavement, watching it fly into the road. Looking up to see where it landed, the satanist's view landed on that blue godly-voiced freak. He was crouched over, gangly legs tucked beneath him as he counted the few pennies in distaste. Kid mustn't have earned much, silly sod. Murdoc took a quick look around, seeing no one else roaming the streets now. It was shocking people could hold jobs down here. _'Guess, I'll ask 'im for directions then..'_ Murdoc strode over confidenty, because _Murdoc_ being _nervous_ to ask for directions? Not a chance!

"Oi, blue," he beckoned in a less than polite manner. He heard the kid gasp and once again, their eyes locked. The older tried not to gasp himself at the sight of the homeless singer crouched less than a metre away from him. His face was a lot more clearer now he was closer. He took in the sight of his hollowed cheeks and high cheekbones, button nose and pointed jaw. He looked almost like a sculpture crafted by... by a God. Those black eyes contrasting with his neon locks and the dreary environment... just... wow. "Ahem?" he coughed and it was only now Murdoc realised he was hovering over the lad eerily and creepily gazing down at him. He looked less than happy that's for sure, especially since he caught him staring earlier too. "Can I 'elp yew, mistah?" The older man's jaw dropped. Fuckin hell. Murdoc's brows knotted at the hearing of the boy's dreadful accent. That was _not_ the voice Murdoc expected from someone with a singing voice as smooth as the one before. "Right.." Murdoc mumbled, recollecting himself. "I assume ya know yer way around these parts?" The boy blinked slowly at the unexpected query. "Yeah..?" he urged. Murdoc released a sigh of relief. "Great!" he chirped, "I need ya to give me the whereabouts of," he threw the crumpled note in his direction and the lad struggled to catch it, "that address." The younger scoffed, picking up the paper and unfolding it. "No need to be a dick abou-" he stopped himself, looking up slowly at the weird old sod before him after scanning the words upon that paper. "W-who are yew....?" He asked quietly and Murdoc was dumbfounded at the question. He was looking for directions, not an interrogation. "Look, mate, I just need directions to see some... _people..._ so if you're not gonna tell me, I'll keep looking myself," Murdoc snapped harshly and the boy flinched. He glanced at the paper again, gulping slightly. "I-I can take yew there," he mumbled, standing up and- Satan the kid was tall! Murdoc craned his neck to look at him. "Yeah, whatever, hurry it up then," Murdoc groaned, observing the boy shakily slip his penny-filled guitar case across his shoulder.


	4. Slum

"So, blue, when exactly do we get to this place?" Murdoc asked for the billionth time and Stuart, Murdoc having already forgotten the boy's dull and rather unfortunate name, groaned. "We get there when we get there," he grumbled, still pacing a few steps in front of the annoying man and focusing more on the loose threads of his guitar case strap to distract himself.

After ten more minutes of silent walking, save for Murdoc asking again when they'd get there, Stuart announced "we're here." Murdoc quirked a brow, looking up at the building. At a first glance you'd assume it was some run-down apartment block, something common in a neighbourhood like this, but the longer Murdoc stared at it he realised that wasn't the case. "What's this?" Murdoc trailed off, unimpressed. No wonder he never found the place. There was moss hanging from the openings and from where they were standing it reeked of old damp building. Compared to the light outside, the inside of the building was nothing but a void. It looked abandoned like something out a goddamn horror movie.

He looked to his new tour guide and he stared up blankly. "Home sweet home," he murmured and Murdoc's eyes widened. "What?" he choked and Stuart gave a confused glance at the statement before remembering this middle class prick wasn't from around here. "Oh yeah, right..." he grunted, and Murdoc looked up at him, crossing his arms and outwardly demanding an explanation. "This place is where people like... _me..._ stay. Like a hotel of sorts. Well, actually it's an old carpark..." Murdoc wasn't sure what to make of this ordeal, instead letting himself be led inside the wide opening.

The musky scent of damp walls and unclean bodies infiltrated Murdoc's senses. "Keep yer 'ead down, they don' like rich folk like yew..." Stu murmured and the other let out an unattractive snort. People lining the walls, slumped over and looking victim to terrible accidents glanced up, eyeing the newcomer with a malicious yet cautious glint in their ghostly eyes. "Me? Rich? Kid you _must_ be poor if you think _I'm_ rich." Stu paused, turning to look Murdoc up and down. He let out a huff, continuing on and leading Murdoc further in. He just didn't get it. Faces in the corners and bodies one with the shadows followed Murdoc's path, silently watching. The elder's chest shifted with unease whenever he'd lock eyes with one of these... people. Women, children, men, rats. This was a literal slum. These people lived in an apocalyptic state. Stuart halted again. Pooled at his feet was a navy cotton blanket, a little pawn shop lantern placed beside it. That orange hue highlighted the dirt and crumbs of mud sprinkled on the fabric and the grime running up the walls. Stuart lowered himself, grunting as he plopped down against the wall and shrugged his guitar off. Murdoc looked down, almost at a loss for words at the way he simply sat in his own filth. It made his face curl into a disgusted grimace. "What the hell are you doing?" Stuart looked up at him, eyes widening slightly in bewilderment. "Oh, yer still 'ere?" He asked in a way implying he had no idea this strange man was still following his tail. Murdoc's brows shot up his forehead. "Wha- Yes! Yes, I'm still 'ere! Now, what are ya doin'?" Stuart blinked slowly. "Well... this is it... The place on the note yew got there. My job here is done, I s'pose. Can't help yew anymore." Murdoc blinked slowly. Stuart had turned away from the still man, opening up his guitar case and picking out the change he earned, completely ignoring Murdoc.

The older man grumbled something along the lines of "wanker" before turning on his heel, deciding to explore further inside this hellish place. He kept to the walls, following the thick lines of damp spots and scratched off paint as signs of where he was going. Damn, this place was big. He wasn't even sure who, or what, he was supposed to be finding.

_"This place," Paula began, "there are some people that live there who are some unusual folk." She handed over a leaflet with directions, circling the address of the supposed place. "Got a name?" Murdoc murmured, accepting the paper. Paula cleared her throat, looking away ever so slightly. "I'm not really supposed to say. The work they do is pretty, uh, brutal, I guess. But I think, with a little persuasion, you could take them in. No one else wants 'em anyways." Murdoc snickered slightly. "Brutal, eh? And how'd someone like you come across such 'brutal' people like them, hm?" Paula didn't smile back or even acknowledge his remark. "One of them was here for a while, working the pole with me. We got close." She stopped for a minute. "We got close, and they told me things because they thought they could trust me. The others found out and made them quit the job and leave. It wasn't their fault though. Those people just have to keep their work on the downlow, you see." Murdoc blinked slowly. By this point he believed she'd lost the plot. Why be so ominous? "I see." He didn't. The two parted ways, rather awkwardly to be honest. He knew it'd be a while until they saw each other again._


	5. Could You Bag Me Up?

Murdoc's boots scraped across the concrete, picking up dust and dropping it off his heel in an explosive cloud with each elongated stride. He took caution as an unknown force pulled him further into the depths of the tunnelling space, eyes watching him from the shadows. He pulled his phone from his jean pocket, switching on the flashlight for a clearer vision. Looking in the corner of the cracked screen, it seemed phone signal to call for help from his best bud Hewll wasn’t going to be on his side today if he were to get murdered or something down here. It made him wonder though, like, _really_ made him wonder if Paula had seen this place for herself. In all honesty he was beginning to doubt her credibility. Was this a cruel joke? If it was, he couldn't exactly blame her. It was a good one though, sending him into the dangerous downtown alone to fend for himself with a dead-end lead on how to save his falling business. An amazingly horrible revenge-fuelled joke.

The air grew thicker with grime and damp gravel, so much so his old smoker's lungs took to wheezy breaths whistling out his airways and a hand to his chest to check his heart still beat. He almost thanked God and the heavens when he came across an opening, two actually. The first stretched upwards, white-painted lines and dirt-blurred signs indicating another floor with a splash of daylight painting the walls towards the top, almost creating the image of a wrecked stairway to heaven which to Murdoc sounded very appealing; fresh, well, fresher air that would save him choking on dust bunnies. It was so much more appealing when he witnessed the dark descent of the second roadway leading down, down into a hellish void. No orange candle flickers, no ragged coughing of a faceless body. He could almost hear the silence, like an energy pulsating from below. The barman didn't think twice before walking towards the daylight above.

He let out a mix of a cough and throaty laugh when the air thinned out and he felt the warmth of natural light bloom on his skin, shoulders and head falling back as he toothily grinned in content. Similarly to the ground floor, the wide expanse of the car park mapped out before him, the only difference being he could actually see the spaces where a vehicle would have been placed thanks to the open roof curving around, allowing the grey of the sky to shine in. The residents glanced up at their guest, though none looked particularly like the faces he'd want to see working in his business. A voice that didn't belong to him nor those sprawled around him was enough to catch his limited attention-span. It was a voice he recognised vaguely, having heard it at the exact same time every single morning at around 7AM on his definitely-not-scam-bought television, the times he was awake at 7AM that is.

_"This morning you've got time for a hot home-cooked breakfast! Delicious and piping hot in only three microwave minutes-"_

Ah. That was it. That shitty breakfast commercial of sea-side manufactured morning jello-snacks shaped like poorly drawn jellyfish, or squid, or whatever tentacled sea-dwelling creature it was. The commercial man's voice reverberated off the concrete walls and Murdoc found himself dragging his body towards the huddle of children perched in the corner of the parking lot. Looming over the group of brats brought attention to a severely outdated television set their eyes were glued too. Its setup looked dodgy and slightly dangerous and Murdoc was even considering the safety of these little bastards- hm, maybe he was being harsh on the little ones given their circumstance. Nonetheless, he watched alongside them how the man on TV was comically scrambling around his microwave to which the children giggled- wait, what was he doing? He was a man on a mission! He had a job to be doing.

"Impressive, hm?" Murdoc made a sound of surprise at the interruption. Swivelling on his heel, he faced the man standing just a bit beside him. "Come again?" Murdoc spoke monotone. The man, a broad shouldered, bear-built black man with a noticeable not-British accent glanced down at him. "The TV," he deadpanned. Murdoc blinked, clearing his throat. He found himself lost in the degraded pigment of the man's irises; a ghostly grey, soulless yet the wrinkles around them depicted wisdom. "Uh.. yeah.. yeah I guess. It's a miracle you lot get signal in here, eh?" Murdoc, reclaiming his quirky attitude let out an ugly forced laugh(?). The man didn't laugh. "It is," he replied, "It's good to distract the kids. Shame we can only get some channels, but we make do." The man's unsettling gaze never left the barman's. Murdoc's eyes flicked leftwards, breaking the stare down before it got more awkward than it already was.

"Well then," Murdoc finished, turning back to the ramp leading to the ground floor. Maybe he could ask the blue-boy for help again. He'd rather that than get into unwanted situations with strangers. He felt eyes on his back as he walked, and soon enough a body. Half-turning his head, the black man was at his side again, rather close actually. Before a query could escape his parted lips, the man was already quick to strike conversation. "You new 'round these parts? Never seen ya before." Murdoc glanced down the descent of the ramp to the dark of the candle-lit ground floor, swallowing yet his mouth remained dry. Electricity was scarce obviously, probably all put into that TV set, Murdoc guessed. "Not at all, mate, I'm just looking for some people is all." He saw the man flinch slightly, the only sort of emotion the robotic man bothered to show. "What kindsa people? Any idea who? Maybe I could help," he asked anyway, sounding a little desperate he thought. The two were moving at a slow pace, one heavy step at a time. Murdoc found it hard to move with this much bigger lad standing on top of him. "No idea to be fair, that blue kid was no help at all either." The man was beside him now, staring down at him directly and Murdoc was glad his scraggly fringe covered the slight sweat forming beneath. "Actually, _that blue kid_ was the one that told me yous was creepin' around here," he said in a matter-of-fact kind of tone. The older man's brows furrowed. "Oh yeah?" he began, "Why's that then, hm? You the leader or somethin'? Oh yeah, and am I about to get my arse kicked by the way, mate, because that's what this feels like right no- agh!" The rough scrape of concrete rutted against his backside as the man's thick fists bundled up the front of his shirt, pinning him in an unflattering manner against the wall. "Knew it," he rolled his eyes, remaining weary. "Yknow, I'm usually the one pushing people up against walls if ya catch me drift and you’re really not my type anyway." The American (he assumed) knotted his brows and somehow his soulless eyes looked a lot more menacing. "Just who the fuck are you, man?" Murdoc struggled, "what the hell is your problem, mate?". He felt himself be lifted up an inch, heel-booted feet twitching to keep himself upright by his tiptoes and he winced. "You a cop? Huh? Tryna get us in deep shit?" The man's eyes narrowed and Murdoc grunted, "I don't know what yer on about, now get the hell off of me!" The barman pushed himself off the wall, kicking the man in his large shin and scrambling to his feet, making a mad dash in the direction he assumed he had originally come from. The faces in the shadows were a mere blur as his heels clacked across the orange-hued ground but he had no doubts they were watching. The smog of the place clogged up his airways again but he pushed on, until something was thrust from the shadows beneath his footing, sending him stumbling forward to his hands and knees. 

The last thing he saw when he twisted his body back was a flash of blue before a suffocating fabric was thrust over his entire head, feeling multiple hands scoop him up and restrain him, pulling him back the way he came.

-

"What the fuck were you thinking?!" 

_That American bastard. Wait, why can’t I see? Did he just kidnap me?! What the-_

"I'm sowry, Russ, ah didn't mean to knock ‘im over!"

_Hey, I know that voice.. Like fucking nails on chalkboard. The blue kid. What was his name again? Steven, Stewie... no, no, uh, Stuart! Yeah that was it! Did that damn fuckhead bag me up?! And Russ? Was that the American that roughed me up? What the fuck is happening to me..? Sweet Satan my head kills. If someone doesn’t take this damn bag off of me soon I’ll be blowing chunks in it and I don't think any of these sorry sods would want that._

"Stop bickering, the both of you! We could _use_ him if he’s up to no good."

_A woman?! Oh thank all Lucifer's demons of hell. Maybe I can sweet talk my way out of this the good ol' Niccals way._

"Well yew were the one who _kidnapped_ 'im?! Ah didn't even mean ta trip 'im up!"

_Well nevermind then. This lass was the one that bagged me? Goddamnit. Doesn’t mean Stewie-boy is in my good books still._

"Whatever dude- oh shit, I think he's awake."

He felt the top of the bag scrunch at the top, swiftly being snatched from his head, causing his fringe to poke up in a highly unattractive fashion. Letting his tired eyes adjust to the dim light, they landed on a pair, well, one hazel-green eye. The other was hidden underneath locks of black bangs, obviously not cut by a professional. His eyes followed the rest of this woman's- more like girl's- face. She was a lot younger than Murdoc had assumed. Well there went the idea of a nice round of hate-sex in the dark in exchange for his freedom. He frowned, almost in disappointment, but then his eyes darkened as the situation dawned on him. The devilish man felt light, high, but not in the way he would have liked, and surely enough, he didn't feel his trusty mobile phone in his pocket either which led Murdoc to conclude that not only had these maniacs kidnapped him, but also robbed him. Typical. Jamie and Damon better have enough money leftover for a nice enough funeral, otherwise he'd definitely be coming back from the dead to haunt them if things go tits-up.

"If someone doesn't explain what the fuck is going on right this second I swear to Satan-" his eyes landed on the blue kid standing sheepishly behind the black man. " _You,_ " he seethed, sneering. Stuart tucked away behind the American who he had now dubbed as Russ. Murdoc tried standing to his feet by sliding up the wall he was leaning against before being shoved back down by the unnamed girl. She took his face in her fingerless-gloved hand, closely examining his face. "Meh, he's fine," she grunted, unceremoniously dropping his head against the wall. Being up close, Murdoc could see the girl was also foreign like her American counterpart, tan skin and almond-shaped eyes indicating some sort of Asian heritage. "あなたが目を覚ましているグラッド [Glad you are awake]. You passed out on us. May have had the bag too tight, hm?" She smirked, almost in mockery. Her accent was an Asian-British fusion, making Murdoc believe she may have been raised here after all. "I'm still waiting on an answer to what the hell is going on..." he grumbled. "Unfortunately, we're gonna be the ones asking questions." She narrowed her one revealed eye in suspicion. "Do I at least get a name, sweetheart?" Murdoc challenged, smirking deviously. "Do I?" she challenged back. "Sure, name's Murdoc Niccals. And you would be...?" Russ stepped in. "Alright cut the shit, man." Murdoc curled his lip at the second interruption he'd caused today, not in the mood to be crushed by this lard-arse again. Stuart was being awfully quiet. He'd taken to picking at his nails, looking anywhere that wasn't himself. Guilty maybe? Serves him right for getting him in this mess and leaving him to wander this hellhole alone. Murdoc groaned. "Satan, what's so special about this horrid place anyways? Because you lot must be hiding some shady shit if you bothered to take time out of your pitiful lives to _kidnap_ _me_." The three looked at each other. The girl gave a knowing glance to the American, who nodded, an unspoken agreement. Despite being onyx-laced, he saw the way Stuart's eyes flickered between them before making an uncomfortable face, like he knew something.

"Mr Niccals, follow us," the girl pulled him to his feet with surprising strength. She paused, looking him in the eyes. She was a lot shorter than all of them. "Don't try to run." With that, he was being pushed in an unknown direction. Blacking out (which he couldn't believe he did) fried his brains a little and he felt tired and distant. There went his initial _man on a mission_ plan. His next mission would likely have to be an escape one at this rate.

-

The space was big, bigger than it should have been in a place like this. There was a small mass of people, actual _normal_ looking people who didn't look like they took baths in roadkill. They huddled around in a circle shape, leaving a space in the centre of the room. Murdoc was ushered forward by the girl and the American, Stuart trailing behind slightly, now nervously biting his nails from what he could tell when he took discreet glances at him. The people turned to them at their arrival, chatter turning to murmurs, which turned to almost silence save for a few whispers. Many eyed up Murdoc like he was the fresh meat. God, it was like prison all over again and he cringed at the thought.

"Has anyone seen Cy?" Scary-Asian-girl called out, and the murmurs increased in volume again, trying to conjure a response. Murdoc's brows shot up in surprise; the girl had authority clearly. Soon enough, a path cleared through the people, revealing a figure that took careful strides towards them, this supposed _Cy._ Murdoc didn't need to think for long before noticing the similarities in the girl and Cy. For one, they were both nearly identical save for this Cy girl's hair being straighter and a more violet-purple shade in comparison to the jet black of her counterpart. The possibility of the two being related was high. "お姉さん、数ラウンドは調子がいいですか？" she spoke to Cy in her native tongue, who took a few seconds to think, then nodded, turning her neck almost mechanically to Murdoc. He leaned in to Russ. "Any idea what she's saying?" Russ looked to him, and the faintest trace of a smirk played upon his face. "I have some idea," he spoke vaguely. Murdoc rolled his eyes, turning the other way to the blue kid who refused to meet his stare, looking at his tattered Converse instead.

Eventually, the Asian girls met his weary gaze. "You are going to be competing in our fight tournament, Murdoc-san," the still-unnamed-girl announced. Murdoc narrowed his eyes, processing, then widened them in sudden shock, mouth flapping. _Fight tournament!? What 'fight tournament'?! As in, gonna-get-my-ass-kicked-or-kick-someone-else’s-ass fight tournament?_ "F-Fight tournament..?!” 

The girl slung an arm around him, pulling him down to her height in a forced headlock and steered him away from the group. "Hai, Mr Niccals. You see, if you haven’t noticed, we don’t really believe you’re up to any good around here. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here. These parts aren’t for the financially stable-” if only she knew “-kinda people like yourself and we don’t appreciate them sticking their noses where they don’t belong,” she booped him on the nose and he shifted in her grasp only to feel her arm wrap tighter around him. “So now, we are going to, how may I put this, _take advantage_ of the situation.” Murdoc growled, “By signing me up for whatever tournament you just said without me getting a say? Why don’t you just, I dunno, let me leave and I _promise_ from the bottom of my deep cold heart I won’t come back, alright?” She paused, loosening her grip. “You’ve brought it upon yourself, Mr Murdoc-San, wandering in _our_ territory. And intentional or not, Russel-San and I have an important business to run around here to keep the people that live here fed and clean.” Murdoc snorted, “and how’s that been working out for ya, eh, luv? Cus from the looks-a-it, not very well.” She sneered. “You’ll be competing against my sister, Cy.” With that she let go and he was able to save his backside by standing straight again. “Cy, hm? And what’s your name? _Borg?_ ” he snickered. She looked him in the eye. “Watashi wa Noodle.” Murdoc quirked a brow, smirking. That was even better. “Noodle, hm? Like the _asian-derived_ food?” She didn’t answer him, which Murdoc found disappointing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never intended to continue or finish this story despite my excitement of starting it back in 2018 on Wattpad prior to moving it here. Mainly because of a lack of motivation to write and wanting to focus on my actual life. I sometimes write random stories here and there as you may have seen and have recently removed a hella cringe oneshot book but kept a few as individual stories.  
> Nevertheless, I will try update this story whenever I can because I didn't expect people here to actually take interest in it and I kind of miss it tbh. I had no idea how to end this chapter too, if you didn't notice, and didn't properly proof-read it so sorry for any errors.  
> Also, this would be updated on Mudz's 54th bday so how's that for a comeback, eh? ;)  
> Title taken from Bombay Bicycle Club's 'How Can You Swallow So Much Sleep?'


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